


A Self Published Guide To Pissing Off Your Local Barista

by Antimonicacid



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Friends, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21866668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antimonicacid/pseuds/Antimonicacid
Summary: Sylvain is a literary agent just looking for a good cup of coffee. Felix is the mean barista who use to be his best friend ten years ago. His refusal to talk to Sylvain is, of course, unacceptable.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 108





	A Self Published Guide To Pissing Off Your Local Barista

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: i am real life barista dont hit on ur baristas, kiddos.

Sylvain is ethically opposed to Starbucks and very passionate about it. There were, of course, many reasons to be critical and repulsed by more or less any large corporation. He was sure that there must be some huge scandal regarding their politics. Maybe they’ve made secret donations to the wrong politician? Or secret donations to puppy mills? Or secret donations to the Republican CEO of a puppy mill? He was positive there had to be some work around to their fair-trade sticker and also that their environmental claims were probably bullshit. Sylvain bet that they were the blood diamond of coffee. They probably ran an underground network of child drug runners hyped up on caffeine and stale danishes. Chaquita bananas has fucking death squads, imagine what a coffee business could be getting up to!

Sadly, Sylvain couldn’t pretend that his staunch refusal of the popular coffeeshop chain was one based purely from a humanitarian standpoint. For one, he was raised on the money of _Gautier Hotels & Resorts_ which means any complaints he may have about capitalism are inherently disingenuous and hypocritical. Secondly, he sucks at being environmentally friendly because paper straws are stupid, and he doesn’t want to use them which means he also has no right to a high horse about the unsustainability of the Starbuck’s model. And thirdly, he still eats at Chick-fil-A even though he’s gay so he can’t pretend that he has any willpower whatsoever to effectively boycott _any_ business, really.

No, Sylvain just thinks Starbucks fucking sucks and shouldn’t be allowed to call itself a café.

He feels very strongly about this. He’s pretty sure he’d rather have both arms broken than to order a macchiato and receive whatever that iced monstrosity is. He realizes that this is an overreaction, but also, he doesn’t care.

Normally this is fine, because it’s not very often the politics of coffee comes up in conversation despite how much mental effort he has devoted to it.

His usual assistant, Ashe, was a sweet, bright-eyed college senior with high hopes for entering the lucrative business of literary agents. Ashe was cool. Ashe knew what the fuck was up and didn’t just have Sylvain’s coffee order memorized but knew when to anticipate his fluctuations of moods and the appropriate days to switch it up. He knew that Sylvain couldn’t drink dairy in the morning without having to be told and he knew that he should ask for whipped cream _anyways._ But Ashe was gone now, along with his oracle-like ability to guess exactly when Sylvain felt like it was a mocha day without wanting to own up to it being a mocha day.

Or, more accurately, Sylvain was gone. Gone from the big city. Gone from his old job. Gone from the familiarity of each hole in the wall coffeeshop that had drinks worth the extra upcharge in quality.

Sylvain knew that his move from the buzzing chaos of New York City to the more subdued suburbs of Michigan would be an adjustment. He had pre-ordered an audiobook about the wonders of change and mindful meditation in preparation for this very reason.

This reason being that his new assistant wasn’t Ashe. This assistant technically wasn’t even an assistant but a snot-nosed intern instead, and this _not_ -assistant who was _not_ -Ashe couldn’t listen to _simple_ directions and bring him a _coffee_ –not an _americano_ but a _coffee–_ because Starbuck americanos are not _coffee_ they are the juice of _garbage_ reheated in the general shape of _coffee_.

Which is what he told his assistant.

Which made him cry.

Which made him feel like an asshole.

Probably because he was an asshole.

Which is why Sylvain was now pushing open the doors of a local coffeeshop so he could buy Ignatz (who was not snot-nosed at all and very nice) a cup of coffee and maybe a muffin or something, because Jesus Christ he wasn’t a monster he was just under caffeinated and stressed.

Sylvain stared intently into the display case of pastries as he tried to figure out whether a peanut butter brownie or slice of banana bread better expressed the sentiment of “I promise that we are not reenacting the plot of The Devil Wears Prada so please don’t report me to HR and make me sit through six hours of mandatory anger management training”. It was a tough choice and full of many variables. What if Ignatz didn’t like sweets? What if he already had breakfast? What if he was allergic to nuts and gifting him with a peanut butter brownie was the equivalent of committing a hate crime, but for allergies?

“Do you want something?” The question mark at the end of that statement was generous considering with how flat and irritated the delivery of it was.

Sylvain felt his lip twitch towards a frown, but he already had one outburst today, and he didn’t feel like it was necessary to show more than one intense emotional display of any kind per monthly quarter.

He stood up from his crouched position with a grin artificially plastered to his face. “Sorry for that,” he apologized smoothly. “Just trying to figure out what to buy a co-worker having a bad day.”

The barista standing before him didn’t respond. He was a tired and mean looking guy in his early twenties, but that was most baristas honestly and he was no less handsome for it. There was something intensely familiar about him, from the messy tangle of black hair on top his head to the glint of light off his focused glare.

It wasn’t until the barista slapped his hand over his name tag to shield his identity that Sylvain put it together.

“Holy shit, Felix?” Sylvain breathed his name out as if he were addressing a ghost.

Felix scowled even deeper and seemed to cringe at his name. “No?” he asked without much hope that the lie would work.

“Holy shit, _Felix_?” Sylvain said again more incredulous than before. He covered his mouth delicately with his fingers, as if he were afraid that if he said his name too much that it would slip away along with the man before him and stared in unabashed amazement. “ _Holy shit_ –“

“Stop!” Felix cut him off. “We get it! ‘Holy shit, Felix’ or whatever can we move on and can I have your fucking order?”

Sylvain gave a funny bone laugh– no humor to be found. “Okay, okay. I’m just– Holy shit, or I mean– Hey, do you have coffee?” He tripped over his words.

Felix stared at him like he was an idiot. “We’re a coffeeshop.”

“I mean so is Starbucks and yet…”

Felix rolled his eyes. “We have coffee.”

“Cool cool cool cool cool. Okay can I have a large medium drip with soy, a small mocha, a medium dark roast café au lait, an herbal iced tea, and a hot chocolate? Oh, and three pastries. Just pick your favorites.” He began searching for his wallet in his pocket but stopped when he realized Felix hadn’t moved. “What?” Sylvain asked.

“Why?” Felix replied.

“For my co-worker,” Sylvain explained. “I’m doing the coffee run this morning, I guess. Isn’t that nice of me?”

“Just one co-worker?”

“Yeah. He’s having a bad day. The boss made him cry.”

“Sounds like a dickhead,” Felix scrunched his nose up in distaste while Sylvain nodded in agreement.

“Yeah. I don’t actually know what he likes to drink so I figured I’d cover my bases. Isn’t that nice of me?” Sylvain asked again.

Felix glared at him. “It’ll be 32.56 do you want your receipt?” He spit the question at him in a way that Sylvain new he should probably say no.

Sylvain shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Uh, yeah no problem,” and started pulling out bills.

“I have a line, you know?” Felix jerked his chin towards a small group of people building up behind Sylvain. Sylvain flushed in embarrassment. It probably isn’t fun to suddenly have to make a bunch of drinks during the morning rush, but before he could apologize Felix had already turned away and was pulling out milks and cannisters of whipped cream to prepare his order.

“Will that be all for you today?” A pretty girl with long brown hair and a friendly smile took Felix’s place behind the cash register.

“Yes, thank you. Sorry for the trouble–“ he squinted at her chest for a name tag. “Dorothy.” 

Her expression instantly soured. “Dorothea,” She corrected him. “Not the Wizard of Oz.”

Sylvain could feel his face start to twitch. “Ah, my bad. I don’t have the best vision–“

“Get glasses.”

“Come on, I don’t need glasses–“

“Do you have a like, complex about wearing glasses or something? Are we going to dig into this right now? Do you really want to defend your eyesight to your pretty barista at 9:32am?” Behind her Felix snickered while frothing milk.

“No. No, I do not,” Sylvain answered honestly. “Here, keep the change.” He threw a fifty at her and quickly shuffled to the end of the bar to wait for his drinks while Dorothea cheerfully rang up the next customer.

He didn’t mind the wait. From there he could watch Felix work without feeling weird about staring. It felt out of place, like he was watching Obama or The Backstreet Boys pour iced tea instead of some no-name barista. His memory of Felix didn’t coincide with this. His memory of Felix was younger, smaller, and happier to see him. His memory of Felix was mostly one of an awkward young teenager, not this kinda-hot-if-we-bein-honest-here barista. This didn’t feel real, but Sylvain was giddy nonetheless.

Eventually, Felix walked over with a carry-out tray full of drinks and a paper bag of assorted pastries.

“Here,” he said already turning away.

“Felix, wait,” Sylvain calls out without thinking of what he wants him to wait for. “Can I get your number or something?”

Sylvain felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and realized that Dorothea was glaring daggers at him.

“I am _not_ hitting on him!” He defended himself. “I respect service workers, oh my God.”

She turned her nose away satisfied enough, but he could tell that she was openly listening just in case.

Sylvain sighed and rubbed his temples. “This is the weirdest morning,” he said.

“Okay,” Felix replied.

“Okay as in you’ll give me your number?”

“Okay as in you made this really weird.” Felix looked over towards the register as the orders piled up. “I don’t know why you’re here–“ he began to say before Sylvain cut him off.

“I got a new job so I moved to the area,” he told him. “I didn’t know you lived here. Have you always lived here? Since the, uh ya know, since you _moved_?”

It was the wrong thing to say, although there was probably no right to say. Felix face went from openly irritated to cold and neutral. “Is there anything else I can get for you? No? Have a _great_ rest of your day.”

And with that Felix stomped back to the register with no intention of looking back.

What a weird fucking day. Sylvain grabbed his drinks and the bag of pastries awkwardly shuffled out of the store. As he pushed the door open with his shoulder, he could hear Felix ringing up the next customer.

“Do you want a real macchiato or a Starbucks macchiato because if I hand you a four-ounce drink and you throw a hissy fit then that’s not my problem, bud.”

Yep. That was definitely the Felix that Sylvain remembered.

* * *

Back at the office Ignatz reluctantly took the herbal iced tea leaving Sylvain with four extra drinks. He managed to push the hot chocolate onto the office administrator with some effort.

“Oh, no thank you,” Marianne said. “I don’t drink coffee.”

“There’s a hot chocolate,” Sylvain helpfully replied.

“Oh. I don’t… Drink,” She looked away from him while moving around some loose papers.

“Like, you don’t drink liquids? In general?”

“Ah…”

“Everyone in the office thinks I’m a dick, huh?”

“Yes.”

Sylvain groaned. “I’m jetlagged! I already said sorry!”

“Isn’t Michigan and New York in the same timezone?” Marianne asked.

Sylvain pursed his lips. “I’m emotionally jetlagged? I promise I’m nice. Me and Ignatz are friends now.”

Marianne didn’t reply.

Sylvain shot her his brightest smile. “Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?”

Marianne pointed to a poster on the wall and Sylvain leaned over to read it. _Workplace Harassment: It’s Not A Joke._

“I’m gay,” Sylvain said.

“Do you… Do you tell every girl you hit on that?” She asked while frowning.

“No,” he said. “Just when they get mad.”

“Maybe you should just go back to your office and do your work.”

“I feel like we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot here and–“

“Goodbye.”

Sylvain left the hot chocolate on her desk and called it a victory.

He sat down in his office with his three coffees and a bag of pastries. He had already wasted at least an hour and a half of his workday, which was probably not helping his image with his coworkers. Sylvain sighed and opened up the paper bag to see what sweets Felix had picked out for him, since Ignatz had ran away before he even had a chance to force them on him. Inside was a poppy seed muffin, a slice of zucchini bread, an apple cinnamon tart, and 17.44 in change exactly. These baristas were stone cold.

Sylvain was excited about his new job. Or he thought that he was. Gloucester Literary Management was one of the most reputable independent literary agencies in the country, and it felt like a breath of fresh air to transfer here from his previous position. There was a surprising amount of politics when it comes to book publishing, and Sylvain was sick of the impersonal hugeness of his old company. When he had started at Seiros Publishing House three years ago he had been excited and full of wonder. Being a literary agent just fit him. He got to read books _and_ network which was great because being charming was one of his few skills he could boast about. Soon though, he just felt burnt out. Used up and tired. So, he took a better title, a barely higher wage, and a cross country move all in an attempt to try and enjoy his dream job once again.

And he found Felix instead.

Sylvain took a sip of his drip coffee while contemplating whether it was worth it to go back there and demand that Felix have an actual conversation with him. He hadn’t seen Felix since Sylvain was sixteen. Nine fucking years and he couldn’t even get a hello from him? He started to feel the burn of anger and embarrassment well up in his chest, but then the taste of coffee–actual fucking _coffee_ – hit his lips. 

That single medium cup of drip was enough to make up for the entire dumpster fire of a morning he was having and in a state of gratitude Sylvain finished the whole thing off _and_ the café au lait _and_ half the mocha.

Felix may be a dickhead, but at least he knew how to make a latte worth the upcharge.

* * *

Sylvain burst out of his office a bit before one.

“Hello hello hello!” He called out to everyone making their way to lunch.

“I know I haven't gotten the chance to introduce myself properly to most everyone here, and I plan on doing so much more formally than this, but in the mean time I figured that now is as good a moment than any so hello hello hello I’m Sylvain José Gautier and I will be taking over as junior vice president from Mr. Acheron who I am sure was very lovely, but also I’m even more so mainly because I’ve bought lunch as a thank you for allowing me the pleasure of working with all of you. Yes, this is a bribe and I encourage you all to view it as such.” He clasped his hands together as if praying and nodded vigorously at the confused staff.

“Now! Just as an update for what we’ll be working on for the rest of the day: We got the movie rights to Vestra’s horror YA series, but movies are old and lame now, nobody likes fucking movies so I’m trying to shop around with some tv networks to see about a mini-series so we can, ya know, just Good Omens this shit up.” He raised his fist in the air as if “Good Omens this shit up” was a real call to action.

“Oh shit, speaking of England! I pulled some strings with some contacts and signed on Seteth and his new fairytale book so he’ll no longer be represented by Seiros which is great because it’s his third book and they are far more interested in new talent than old because they’re dumb and his previous work is solid but his current novel is excellent and amazing and also doesn’t he look British? I feel like he looks British as fuck so I think he can be the face of cool British children’s authors if we play our cards right and promote him as a much more _inclusive_ brand. So, we are holding a fundraiser next month with Mr. British lookin’ Seteth as the guest of honor! WHOOP-WHOOP! We just need to make sure his old Amish romance novels are completely scrubbed of his name because that really doesn’t vibe well with children lit. On the topic of lit, y’all, this mocha slaps! IGNATZ!”

Ignatz jumped in his seat at the sudden yell. “Y-yes?”

Sylvain clapped his hands together before flashing him two thumbs up. “You’re doing fucking amazing! Good job!”

Ignatz reluctantly returned the thumbs up. “Thank you?”

“No, problem, no problem wasn’t that iced tea good? Marianne! Did your hot chocolate slap?”

Marianne furrowed her eyebrows. “Um,”

“I bet it slapped. This café is so good, guys I’m buying us coffee from them tomorrow morning which means– shit the food is here how many vegetarians are there in here we’re a literary agency there has to be at least five don’t worry I bought vegan food and meat so we’re all good and Ignatz here’s my wallet go pay for the food and give him a tip and make sure he takes the tip sometimes they don’t take the tip which is rude. I have to go make some calls now because I found this manuscript in the slush pile which is fair because the first five pages is the author apologizing for how bad it is, but goddamn this book _slaps_ I swear to God I’m going to kill someone if we don’t get to sign her on I want a three part series _immediately_ – IGNATZ!”

“YES?”

“You’re doing great!”

Sylvain slammed the door shut to his office and went back to work.

**Author's Note:**

> right now i'm planning for this to be a small series with a goal of 7 chapters or so. i'm not always the best with updating, but i'll aim to update every two weeks or so god willing and hopefully one a bit sooner since this is mainly set up for the story. next chapter we'll learn more about sylvain and felix's friendship and some of what lead to them being distant for the last decade. thank u for reading im sending lots of love and anyone is free to talk to me on twitter @biheretic if you have questions abt the worldbuilding or choices i made for this <3


End file.
